


A Day

by alltoseek



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-18
Updated: 2012-05-18
Packaged: 2017-11-05 13:49:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alltoseek/pseuds/alltoseek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What does ordinary look like for two extraordinary flatmates? A slice of the domestic life of Sherlock and John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Day

Dr John Watson lounged comfortably in his armchair, perusing his medical journals. Meanwhile, the world's only consulting detective paced restlessly about the flat, flitting from sitting room to kitchen to bedroom. On one pass he reached into John's trouser's pocket to pull out his phone.

“Oi! What are – You could just ask, you know. Git.”

“Yes, but then we'd have to go the tedious rounds of 'What for?' and 'Why mine? You have your own right in your hand.'” Sherlock spoke in his usual sharp tones, but somewhat absently; fingers dancing over the pad to send first a text, then make a call. “This way is more efficient.” Immediately his own phone first rang, then chimed announcement of a new text. Sherlock tossed John's phone back in his lap with a muttered curse.

“Ohhh kaaay,” John replied, frowning. “So what was that all about?” he asked, tucking the phone back in his pocket.

“Three days, John! Three days with no texts and no calls! Nothing at all!” whinged Sherlock, flopping dramatically on the sofa, one arm flung over his eyes.

“And so you were… testing your phone's reception?”

“Obviously,” drawled the detective.

“Ah,” replied John, returning to his reading. After listening to a few noisy, angst-filled sighs from Sherlock, the smile he'd been attempting to stifle finally burst forth into a muffled laugh. Sherlock raised his head and glared at him.

“If you dare to suggest – ”

“It could be because – ” 

“Don't say it!”

“The mistaken identity on the Johnson case.”

“ARGH! How was I to know he had an identical twin?! Even he didn't know it!”

“Nevertheless, a very public false arrest – ”

“Not. My. Fault!”

“Still, you can understand why the Yard may not be in contact for a time.”

“Do they credit me for all the cases I've solved? No, my only use to them is apparently as a scapegoat,” muttered Sherlock bitterly.

“Although Lestrade was happy to clear up that twenty-year-old cold case of the missing baby.”

“They never would have found out about the twin anyway if it weren't for me. I still solved it. Mostly. And a bonus case I didn't even know about. Actually a remarkable accomplishment, which would be obvious to anyone except those IDIOTS at the Yard.”

John got up and put on his jacket.

“Where are you going?”

“Out. It's a nice day. Thought I'd check out the Farmer's Market at Parliament Hill.”

Sherlock stood and reached for his coat and scarf.

“Going out, too, are you?”

“You're always telling me I should help out more with the shopping.”

John did a double-take, then his smile grew wider.

“Shut up,” said Sherlock, but couldn't stop the twitch of his lips.

They took the bus out to Parliament Hill, where Sherlock quickly grew bored of browsing through stall after stall of very similar offerings; and John quickly grew bored of Sherlock's criticism of his ability to select the optimal produce. Finally Sherlock spotted a small booth tucked aways devoted entirely to honey; he wandered off to it and talked to the proprietress about _varroa destructor_ and colony collapse.

Shopping completed, sun still shining, they wandered the neighborhood until the throngs of joggers and dog-walkers got on Sherlock's nerves. “Dull, duller, dullest,” he sighed. “If I'd wanted to watch boring little people lead their boring little lives I could have stayed in Baker Street and watched you.”

John's mood was too sunny to take offense. He also forbore to point out that Sherlock had left the flat so he could watch John lead his boring little life.

Meandering back to the bus stop they discovered a small carnival, consisting mostly of game booths. Between Sherlock's knowledge of carny's tricks and John's skill with projectiles, they won a two-meter-long plush snake (“Dragon, John, note the wings”) and a large garish red satin heart-shaped pillow for which John had inexplicably declared a sudden, overwhelming desire.

On the way home, Sherlock slid another contemptuous glance at the offending monstrosity of kitsch. (He himself was quite striking with the snake-dragon draped about his neck.)

“You don't plan to keep that thing in the sitting room, do you?” asked Sherlock, suddenly struck by a horrible thought. 

“Why, of course I do!” said John, surprised. “I think the room could use some lightening up, don't you? A bit of colour? I was thinking the sofa, just under the skull print. You could lay your head on it whilst you're thinking.”

Sherlock peered at him. “You're lying.”

“Of course I am! It's a gift for Sarah.” John laughed, taking pity.

“Will she like it?” Sherlock asked, his face scrunched in disgust. He'd thought better of her taste. Well, she did like John.

“Not any more than you do,” answered John cheerfully.

Seemed an odd sort of gift, then, but that was none of Sherlock's concern. Arriving at Baker Street, he went immediately to check his website. His phone had been conspicuous in its silence all day. John cut up veg for salad.

Whilst cooking the risotto, John could hear his friend rummaging about the sitting room. Next he heard a match strike. Not a terribly disturbing sound, all considered, but John liked to check anytime flames were involved. Sherlock was holding a now-lit candle over the skull, which had been placed on the table.

“Wouldn't fit in the candlestick,” said Sherlock. 

“Ah,” said John. He didn't ask why a candle.

“From the market. Pure beeswax.”

“Ah,” said John again, intelligently. He returned to the kitchen, where his veg didn't require him to understand any complicated motives.

They sat down to tea, Sherlock discontented. “Still no cases,” he groused.

“Mmm,” John hummed in pleasure at his first mouthful. “I'd forgotten how delicious fresh veg can be.”

“God, what a boring day,” complained Sherlock between bites. “Not so much as a shoplifter at that wretched market. No scamming beggars or pickpockets. Even the carnies were honest. Well, I say honest...”

“Hmm,” John responded, noncommittally. He enjoyed a bit of excitement as much as – alright, more than – the next bloke, but a spot of quiet relaxation never came amiss in life with Sherlock. In the flickering light of the warm-smelling candle he caught a glimpse of the snake lounging the length of the sofa and smiled. “A day completely out of the ordinary.”

**Author's Note:**

> prompted by thegameison_sh.livejournal.com challenge "out of the ordinary".

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Experiment 1015814.23120191514: Little Progress, Stalled Indefinitely](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3708947) by [stepstostars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stepstostars/pseuds/stepstostars)




End file.
